


Broken Pieces

by Yoite



Series: Some Say The World Will End In Fire [5]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Angst, Denial of Feelings, I like to make him suffer, Introspection, M/M, coldwave, playground love, poor len
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 13:08:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8715193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoite/pseuds/Yoite
Summary: At the Refuge, Len is trying to pick up the pieces.Set in episode 12, a short while after the previous story/chapter.  This won't make sense to you unless you've read the rest of the series.Tl;dr for this chapter: Len is moping around.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to tenaya for the amazing insightful commentary that gave me some ideas (and also the title for this chapter), and of course to blutbae for her continuous moral support. <3

_".. but if it had to perish twice.."_

* * *

 

While the others were still yaking away and giggling at some mildly entertaining anecdotes from Rip’s childhood Len snuck upstairs to have a good look around the mansion. The old spinster was bound to have something of value lying around, though having already inspected a vase and various other items in the downstairs lounge the thief was not too hopeful there would be more than just a heap of old-fashioned tat to swipe. But it would have to do. After all, he might get lucky and end up in a time period before the invention of wind-up watches or optical glasses. Or electric toothbrushes. Though logic did tell Len that their next time jump would most likely take them to the future, well, it didn’t matter. The next time he stepped off that goddamn ship he would disappear, plain and simple. It was the only way.

Of course, his first thought had been revenge – easy enough to accomplish, but it would have meant facing Mick again.. Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. Once Len had regained some self-awareness on the cold floor of that cargo bay, his first thought had been-

The thief shook his head with such vehemence as if chasing away a persistent wasp, yanked open one of the doors along the endless corridor and strode inside.

The room was small, but warm and cosy. Clearly, it belonged to one of the orphans at the Refuge. Len felt a tiny pang of conscience; yet another wasp to chase away. He started going through the drawers: socks, clean white shirts, something that looked like a diary, a snow globe, nothing of interest. After a thorough inspection the thief sighed and leaned back against the wall, throwing a final glance around the room. A few framed pictures on a Welsh dresser caught his eye and he stepped closer to study them. The first one was a photograph of Rip’s foster mother with a skinny boy of maybe twelve or thirteen. Len casually knocked it over for no particular reason. The second picture showed the same boy with his arm resting on the shoulder of another youngster, a little older and sturdier looking. Both teenagers were grinning into the camera.

For some reason, this unremarkable photograph of two strangers captured the thief’s attention. His eyes narrowed as he frowned at it for a moment. Then, to his own surprise, he grabbed it and hurled it against the wall with all his might. The thin glass rectangle shattered into a million pieces, raining down onto the bed and the soft grey carpet. The metal frame made a dull sound as it hit the floor. Len stared down at his hands. His fingers were shaking. He didn’t even recognise himself. He’d never felt unhinged like this before, not even after his first kill, which was an accident, by the way, but made things easier afterwards. Not even after he'd shot his own father.

He covered his face and stumbled backwards against the dresser, allowing himself to sink to the ground. Mick’s lips were on his lips again, Mick’s heat seeping into his body, Mick’s fingers pushing inside him, Mick’s husky voice-

_‘didn’t say there’s no one in the present.. right here..’_

Len furiously rubbed at his eyes, trying to wipe away the all too vivid memories, but they were burnt into the back of his eyelids, into every cell in his body, merciless. Normally he found it easy to flick the switch and turn off that hidden corner of his mind, he just needed to shut it all away in the little box he always kept locked, together with his father’s fists, with all the humiliations of his childhood, because that’s where Mick’s assault on him belonged. He wanted it to belong there so badly, only-

The images that were flooding his brain were not at all unfamiliar. From the moment he had first laid eyes on Mick they had been his secret escape, his very own happy little world, and whatever he did, and wherever he was, in a cold prison cell, maybe, or in a soulless strip bar, lying on a hard mattress in some abandoned warehouse or on a king sized bed in a luxury suite, it didn’t matter. Whenever he closed his eyed it would be just him and Mick, together, doing things to each other he would never be able to put into strings of consonants and vowels.

But it was never meant to _happen_ , not like _this_ , not after all the bad things they had done to each other. Not in-between boxes of sugar-free snacks and futuristic toothpaste, and _definitely_ not when Len had no time to think, to respond, to carefully plan all his moves, not when it didn’t even make any sense, no, _not at all_. This had been his refuge, his most private, dark little space, one he had perfect control of until Mick barged in like the proverbial bull in a china shop, and set it alight, and left it in pieces. After feeling Mick come inside him, how could Len’s imagination ever be good enough? How could he ever-

He suddenly realised that he was hurting himself with something more material than just his non-existent feelings. Slowly, he lifted his hands from his hot, damp face. He must have been rubbing his eyes so violently he scratched himself with the ring on his little finger. Len could not believe he was still wearing that thing. He pulled it off with some effort – obviously, he’d been even slimmer when he first started wearing it – and was about to give it the same treatment as the picture frame earlier when he stopped himself.

He carefully watched the thin gold band as he rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, as if seeing it for the very first time. As if expecting his faithful keepsake to provide all the answers. It wasn’t Mick’s fault. Clearly, Mick didn’t even know what he was doing, that was the reason why he’d left so abruptly, why he’d been avoiding Len ever since, just as much as the opposite was also the case. It was the only explanation Len could find that didn’t tear him apart all the way. It was his own fault for allowing the time bastards to mess with Mick’s head. For not fighting back hard enough. For losing himself. It would not happen again.

Finally, the thief found the strength to get up, wiping his eyes and stuffing the ring into the front pocket of his jeans. He could not begin to understand how he had managed to hold on to it for all these years. The worthless little piece of jewellery, and also this stupid, pointless, irrational crush. He, who never assigned value to a single thing beyond what could be measured in hard coin, who never even stayed in the same place for longer than a few months for fear of getting too familiar with his surroundings. He of all people had to be cursed like this, and hell, he’d tried to get over it so many times, with so many interchangeable girls. And guys, too. It never worked.

But he would be alright, he always was, as long as nobody _knew_ , as long as nobody _saw_ him like this, so disgustingly weak. As long as Mick didn’t realise how much he had needed it, all of it, the brutality, the pain, the inescapability of it, because, God, nobody ever understood how _tiring_ it was to be a relentless rebel. To be cold. To be no one at all. He had been an idiot to think that he could be a legend instead, and now the one thing that had kept him going for so long was slipping through his fingers..

Len threw a last glance down the corridor as he quietly closed the door behind him. Somehow, he did not feel like pillaging the other rooms any more.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, comments always welcome.


End file.
